


crash-landing

by decoying



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Strap-Ons, Trans Male Character, Trans Octane | Octavio Silva
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23998735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decoying/pseuds/decoying
Summary: Octavio could outrun anybody, but Makoa always knew how to keep up.
Relationships: Makoa Gibraltar/Octane | Octavio Silva
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	crash-landing

If you know Octavio Silva, you know he doesn’t sweat.

In any sense of the word.

He’s got nerves of steel and stamina for days, and one of the benefits of that is no sweaty palms, and no sweating the small stuff. 

It’s something of a personal philosophy for him—old reliable in those rare, short-lived times of self-doubt. Not that he’s ever been one to stop and smell the roses. Or stop for anything, really. And definitely not nerves, honest. 

So when he feels a trickle down his temple, rolling down past his cheek and dotting the mattress below him, maybe he can just chalk it up to the learning curve. 

Or the fact that he’s been holding his breath for a solid minute now.

Worst thing (or best thing, really) about Makoa is that he knows bullshit when he smells it. He’s seen Octavio flying high with a Championship ribbon around his neck, clothes and skin singed from more than a few unnecessary grenades. All Octavio wants anybody to see. But he’s been there for the lows, too. For the times when his lungs can’t catch up with him and he’s drowning on air, pushing his body far beyond its limits until it finally rebels. 

He’s sat Octavio down nice and slow, a big palm splayed across his back to steady him. Tucked his head between his knees, spun him a famous Gibraltar story to take his mind somewhere else. Make him feel less stupid. Remind him how to breathe without pointing out he’s choking. 

“Had my share of crash landings, brother,” he’d say. 

And let Octavio stay still, leaned against him until the stillness pressed up against his brain like the walls of a cave and it was time to run again. 

And Octavio could outrun anybody, but Makoa always knew how to keep up.

Even now his fingers never stop moving, rubbing and twitching and exploring every inch of bare skin. Greedy hands on his nipples, his cock, his ass. Octavio has never stood for anything less than straight-forward, no bullshit, right to the good stuff. Too quick and impatient for most people, but not Makoa. Gentle giant Makoa, who knows his own strength, knows his limits—but he’s rarely slow, and he’s never _boring_. He doesn’t make Octavio wait. 

And Octavio’s ready to return the favor—even if this part takes a little getting used to.

So when more sweat starts to drip, Makoa fits one big palm over Octavio’s where he’s trying to line up his cock, because yeah, maybe he’s shaking a little. But it’s not from nerves, really. He’s eager and impatient and horny and just looking at Makoa laid out underneath him, slicked-up and open and ready, _meirda—_ he just wants to fuck him already. 

Makoa makes a pillow of his crossed arms while he waits, serene as a pond. He rests his head like he’s not just as turned on, the hard curve of his cock flush against his stomach betraying his placid calm.

His booming laugh comes easy, encouraging as it is teasing. “I’d say take your time, but—”

“But you know me, amigo,” says Octavio, with a wink that’s way more confident than he feels right now.

“It ain’t going nowhere,” he says, never breaking eye-contact.

His smile’s a challenge, daring Octavio to put his money where his dick is. Hah, Mirage would get a kick out of that one. He rubs the tip against Makoa’s asshole just to wipe that look of his face, and it works in spades. He sucks in a breath. Teethes at his lip. He wants this just as much as Octavio does, and fuck his nerves, he’s gonna make the most of it.

Octavio slicks himself up again. They’re both gonna smell like lube for a week, but it’s worth it to see Makoa like this. He coats the silicone til it’s glistening, and lines up. 

“Ready, cariño?” 

“Always ready.” 

And he pushes in. 

Octavio brackets Makoa’s head with his hands, digging into the sheets as he gets used to the thrusting. The straps fit snugly around his ass, tight enough where the front’s brushing against his clit with every push forward, and it’s _good_. Better than he thought it’d be, and that’s without Makoa’s mouth against his ear, cursing and breathing hard and making sure he knows exactly how much he likes it. He’s egging him on like he needs any reason to go harder, chest heaving with the effort of holding back. 

His hands go roaming again, never to be kept still, squeezing Makoa’s pecs and running along the length of one bicep. Makoa returns the favor, pinching his nipple piercings with one hand, the other roaming lower to trail over his ass. When Octane wraps a hand around his cock, Makoa exhales through his nose, nostrils flared and eyes screwed shut.

“Like that, uh-huh. Got the rhythm.” Through his teeth, he says, “Faster.”

And that’s something you don’t have to tell Octavio twice.

He fucks into Makoa like he’s burning stim, angling for his sweet spot. He’s jerking his cock in time with his thrusts, and he knows Makoa’s getting close when his toes start to curl into the sheets. His thighs go taught and his belly chlenches and he’s coming, hard, ropes of it shooting up to his collarbone. Makoa moans in his ear and Octavio bites out a curse. He’s never been more turned on in his life. The blunt pressure on his clit isn’t enough to get him off, and he’s about to just finish the job himself—but then Makoa’s big arms are around him, kissing his neck and whispering praise while he comes down from his high.

Makoa presses a kiss to his temple, come sticky where it's rubbing between their stomachs.

“Love you, little man,” he says.

And okay—maybe just this once, Octavio can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to the gibraltane fic where gibby calls octane "little man" because i haven't been able to stop thinking about it since


End file.
